Chapter TWELVE

In the West Room the Home Secretary opened fire on his guest.

"All these schemes of yours, Mr. Collop," he said firmly, "you must discard. Time is essential. I ask you for some immediate action. This very night. Mr. Collop, I beg you to proceed."

Mr. Collop needed no further invitation. Proceeding was his passion--I might almost say, his vice.

"Got to be done express?" he asked. "Right-o! Now I'll tell ye my way. I divide it," he continued, roaring powerfully, "into three heads." Then, much more loudly, "Head number one."

"Pray, pray, Mr. Collop," agonised the Home Secretary, with outstretched hands. "A little lower, please! We must not be overheard!"

"I'll tell you my express method--since ye want it express," said Mr. Collop, speaking now no louder than your ordinary street orator, railways guard or the cabinet minister at election. "First, to establish what I call negative evidence. This term," he added sententiously, "I will make clear in a moment. Two"--he ticked them off on his podgy fingers--"what I call the search, comparable to the experiment conducted by men of science; with no hypothetic bless you, none at all! Just random like. Now then, in the midst of that we shall find a clue. What then? Then number three. The hypothetic is formed, modified, readjusted, co-ordinated, and leads infallibly to the inevitable conclusion."

He coughed and spat in the fire. It was perhaps the thirty-seventh time in the last ten years that he had recited that piece. It had been written out for him by his nephew, who, he was proud to say, attended lectures at Manchester University, and he had it typewritten on a now rather dirty sheet of paper which he carried about with him all over England.

"So what do we do now?" he continued heartily. "Why, we begin by establishing our negative evidence. Chrm! Chrm! And how do we do that? Why, we make sure that it is not in this room."

"But how can one make sure of that?" said the Home Secretary, puzzled.

"Why, plain and straightforward, sir. I 'ave brought down my men and my apparatus. We'll want the floor taken up. But that won't take long."

"What?" said the Home Secretary, in alarm.

"The floor, sir. The floor," said Mr. Collop magisterially. "And I say again, it won't take long. My men will prise it up before you can say 'Sir Garnet'! And afore we do that another set of 'em will cut the furniture open to see if it's not in the cracks. Then I have got two with the new white light."

"What?" said the Home Secretary again.

"Why, this new dazzle I told you on," said Mr. Collop proudly.

"But my dear sir, my dear sir, when you say your men, what do you mean?"

"My men, Mr. Dee Boe Hun? Why, them men I ordered to come and 'elp me with this job. They're at the Lion now, waiting."

And without asking his host's leave, he sat down squarely at the little table by the telephone and rang up the Lion. When he had given his message, he waited, head in air, hands clasped behind his back, a monument of Induction and Deduction.

"Do I understand you to say," groaned Mr. de Bohun miserably, "that you mean to pull up the floor to-night?"

"That's it," nodded Mr. Collop. "That's right. And open the furniture. Only just enough to see it's not in any of the cracks. Then," he added, looking critically at the fine Empire looking-glass upon the wall, "we must have things down, of course. You never know what may lie concealed lurking behind."

"Really, Mr. Collop, really," groaned the Home Secretary, clasping and unclasping his hands, "I should think that ..."

"Job must be done thorough," frowned Mr. Collop, wagging his head. "I'd never undertake the responsibility of searching individuals till I'd made sure 'twasn't in the room where 'twas lost."

Even as he spoke there came an honest bang upon the outer door; shortly after another, still more honest, upon the door of the room, and the shuffling of many feet. Once more dispensing with the formality of consulting his host, the great Collop unbolted the door, and with a Napoleonic gesture introduced his merry men.

They were a sight, they were! Six of them seemed to have been chosen rather for strength than for intellectual power. Two staggered under an enormous iron tripod with heaven knows what contraption poised on its summit, and a cylinder of gas. Three more bore with them sundry instruments. And of all this little army Mr. Collop, with fine decision, took immediate charge.

"Now, then, lads!" he said; "hearty! The job's got to be done quick. All the rugs first, please. You two with the light, stand off! Stand on the window-sill. Then you won't be in the way." So they did, the marks of their heavy boots contrasting finely with the delicate woodwork of that Jane Austen room.

"Rugs all rolled?" said Mr. Collop. "Yes! That's right! Shake 'em first, yes! That's right! Pile 'em up on that other window. Now then, tables out of it! Smart!"

He opened the door, and behold! half a dozen willing pairs of hands pushed the small table, the middle table, the big desk, the little table, and the what-not, one after the other, vigorously into the hall--and the door was shut again.

"Now, me boys! up with the Austrians!"

His heart was in his work, and he inspired his command as all great leaders can. The sundry instruments so useful in work of this kind did their rapid work, lifting one large square after another, while the owner of the same danced with astonishing agility from spot to spot, remaining at last on one isolated island, which he was courteously bidden to abandon; taking refuge then upon the remaining low window-sill, while the five large lounge chairs in the room were laid carefully on their backs across the joists as the work proceeded.

"That's the style!" said Mr. Collop, cheerfully. "Pile 'em up, lads! Pile 'em up!"

And those sham-ancient polished parquet squares, their very base modern pitch pine reverse pitifully exposed--but, as Mr. Collop proudly pointed out, not one of them broken--were carefully laid against the wall, nicely missing the Cox and the Morland, but threatening in some degree, should they shift or slip, the large picture of Paulings in the early eighteenth century, which was the place's pride--and so it ought to be! Paulings belonged to gentlemen then. Two of them were to be seen riding horses which had done nothing but eat for years and yet walked on their hind legs. They were followed by four dogs....

But to my tale....

The two citizens with the tripod set it down between the old dusty joists upon which the floor boards had rested, and of a sudden a most abominable glare, like the white heat from molten iron, shot in a shaft upon a corner in the uncovered lower flooring. It was brilliant beyond the dreams of avarice. It revealed like remorse. Mr. Collop with an agility surprising in a man of his build, leaped down that little distance, and kept on shouting directions.

"That's right now! Sweep it along! Sweep it along! Sweep it along!" The blinding shaft of light slowly traversed the edges of the shallow void from end to end, from left to right. "Now back again!" said Mr. Collop. "Now back again!"

The intense beam travelled back in another band, slightly nearer, from right to left; and all the while the detective followed with keen eyes every patch which it successively illuminated.

It was not a long process. Three or four minutes at the most. And while it continued, the Home Secretary, perched in security on his window-sill, was interested in spite of himself: new science is always a toy.... And that was how they searched for the jewels in the flooring of the West Room.

Mr. Collop's hand went up, and the blinding shaft of light disappeared as suddenly as it had come.

"That'll do, lads!" he said. "We know one thing now, any'ow. It didn't get down through the flooring; that's certain. Now then, if you please, we'll open the furniture."

Mr. de Bohun did not please.

"Surely, surely it can be spared," he begged. "It's Victorian."

"Now, sir," protested Collop firmly, "I'll be responsible for nothing unless I'm pursuing my own method."

The Home Secretary sighed and surrendered. With deft fingers two of the three extras began picking out the stitching of the chairs after every loose cushion had been lifted, shaken, and put aside.

It was beautiful to see such expert work; at least, it was beautiful in Mr. Collop's eyes; but the Home Secretary almost shed tears. Those chairs were his father's! The Great Peal, the immortal Benjamin Israel, had graced them. And again--who was going to pay for all this? All the edges of the leather stood out; the secret places were revealed. There was no emerald.

Mr. Collop beamed with satisfaction.

"That, sir," he said triumphantly, "is the end of what we've called our _Negative_ process. Hey! Number One!" And he ticked off on his thumb, as he had done before.

"We are now assured," he boomed, tucking his thumbs into the armholes of his waistcoat, "that wherever the Em'rald may be, it's not in this room. Stay a moment! I'd forgotten! The pictures down, please!"

Again the owner gave tongue. "Do you _really_ think, Mr. Collop ..."

"Yes, I do," answered Mr. Collop with decision. "Come. Smartly, lads!"

No harm was done to the pictures; they knew their work. The Cox was lifted down and now leaned at a secure angle. The Morland turned its back canvas to the ceiling, pushed on a capsized armchair. I wish I could say as much for the Napoleonic looking-glass.

It was just too high for one of the men's hands; he slipped, and down it came: an omen of ill-fortune, smashed upon the floor--round gilded frame, Eagle of the Legions, and all.

"Well, well!" said Mr. Collop cheerfully. "No battle without losses, ye know--hey?"

"I really think...." urged the Home Secretary, with something as near anger as his temperament allowed.

"Never you fuss, sir," thrust in Mr. Collop genially. "It's all right now. We've proved our point. That's the 'sential. I say again, the Negative part is accomplished," and he smiled upon his chief with all the satisfaction of genius. "The em'rald's not in this room where it was lost. That's a cert. What's the conclusion? Why, sir, the conclusion is that it's _somewhere else_. And when I say somewhere else, what do I mean?"

"You mean...." began the Home Secretary nervously, stepping down gingerly from his perch and trying to make his way across the joists--"you mean that you must now consider which, if any, of my guests ..."

Again Mr. Collop's hand went up.

"Now, sir; pardon me! That's not the scientific spirit. I shall send these men back to the Lion, with your leave"--it was the first time he had asked it, and it was granted with enthusiasm--"and then I shall ask you, sir, to give me details, and I shall make notes. After that we'll sleep on it.... Before you go, men, get the Austrians down again. Hammer the clamps down: hammer 'em down good and strong at the corners; whang 'em in! You know how these Austrians buckle! We'll 'ave everything right again in a jiffy"--to his host--"and then we'll sleep sound on it. Like 'Ogs."

With clamouring echo which shook those ancient walls, square after square of Austrian antique was thrown back into its place; with Cyclopean noise the clamps were driven into their former holes, and the shattering bangs of the heavy iron hammers sounded like thunder through the silent night. Twenty yards away, in the small smoking-room, Victoria Mosel and Tommy Galton had remained to exchange a few insults after the others had gone off to bed. They started at the unusual din; she very slightly, he with a jerk.

"What are they doing?" said he suspiciously.

"Making your scaffold," shot Vic decidedly: then, more doubtfully. "It's a damned shame! For I don't suppose you did take it after all, Tommy? Eh?"

"If I thought there was room on you for that bloody stone," began Tommy viciously....

"Oh, search me!" said Vic, without sincerity.

"No, but, Vic, what _are_ they doing?"

"Shifting the scenery, Tommy. Summoning the dead. Christ knows!" She yawned, to the peril of her agglutinative cigarette, but it held nobly. "It can't go on forever. I'm going to bed. By the time they've stopped I'll be asleep. So long! I'll come and look you up at Wormwood Scrubbs, never fear!" And the Virgin departed.

"Not while you're still in Holloway," fired the puller of horses after her as he got up in his turn, and went out to get his candle for bed.

A few moments later, when the Master of the House peeped out into the hall, he found all dark and deserted. He was pleased to think that his guests had suspected nothing.

When everything was accomplished, and the little army of Scotland Yard men had fallen back upon its billets at the Lion (Humphrey de Bohun himself let them out at the front door, on tiptoe and with agonised whispers entreating caution. He himself had locked and bolted these doors); when, I say, all this affair was over Mr. Collop, first making quite sure that his seat was secure, took out a notebook, shot a blot of ink on to the re-established polar bear, and gave tongue.

"Now, sir, fire away!"

"What do you want me to do?" said de Bohun doubtfully.

"Why, just give me details of what those coves 've been doing of," said Mr. Collop, relapsing into the vernacular.

"You mean my guests?" said the Home Secretary rather stiffly.

"That's right," said Mr. Collop cheerfully, "the toffs."

"Well, really.... I haven't played the spy on my guests, Mr. Collop."

"Oh, I'm looking after that," said Mr. Collop with another of his healthy winks. "Now, just you tell me all they did. I've got my first notes here. These three men what I've just met at dinner--and one of them's young McTaggart--I know 'im--they went down on their knees and they looked for it in that rug. Well and good. Then they got up, and they all swore they hadn't got it."

"McTaggart was the last," said de Bohun, defending the interests of the family.

"Ar? ... I didn't know that!" mused the modern Napoleon deeply. And he noted it down. "Well, what next?"

"Why, to tell you the truth--the full truth, and I beg you to keep it private--my cousin, Lord Galton, has told me that he has seen the emerald--seen it with his own eyes--in the Professor's hands."

"Ar!" said Mr. Collop again. "That's important, that is!" and down it went. "Saw it with 'is own eyes: where and 'ow?"

"Wait a moment, Mr. Collop, wait a moment. Not long after, the Professor told me he had infallible scientific proof that it was in McTaggart's pocket. He showed me the very instrument wherewith he had been able to discover its presence through the thickness of the coat."

"That's important too!" murmured Mr. Collop, intelligently noting it down. "An' what does McTaggart say?"

"McTaggart ..." The Home Secretary was about to blurt out the truth and tell him what McTaggart had singularly announced. But he checked himself. To insult his last remaining prop would be fatal. "Oh, McTaggart?" he evaded. "Why, McTaggart said he hadn't got it."

"Ar! just so. 'E did, did 'e? Now, that's _very_ important," affirmed Mr. Collop, and he noted that down also.

"Now here," he continued, slipping an elastic band over the notebook and putting it back into his pocket--"here, Mr. Dee Boe Hun, we 'ave got three 'ypothetics." He again began ticking them off on the thumb and fingers of the left hand. "First 'ypothetic: Lord Galton stole the em'rald. Second 'ypothetic: Old Giglamps stole the em'rald ... Tortoise-shell specs, I mean: the schoolmaster," and he winked again. "Third 'ypothetic: McTaggart stole the em'rald. Now these three 'ypothetics," he went on, "lead to three totally different conclusions. Each of 'em has its conjunctions and conjugations. Mr. Dee Boe Hun," he concluded, rising and assuming hieratic tones, "I shall not sleep to-night." (There is many a true word spoken in lying.) "I shall bend all the energies of me mind in the ensuing hours of darkness, and on the morrow you shall 'ave my conclusions.... I'll trouble you, sir, to leave me a syphon and a drop o' something. Helps me to concentrate."

"I'm afraid," said the Home Secretary, "the servants will have cleared the drinks away from the library, and they have all gone to bed." Then, terrified lest the lack of sustenance should imperil victory, he added hurriedly: "Don't move! Pray don't move! I think I know where to find it."

He was away some time, going on tiptoe in the offices. When he returned it was with an unopened bottle of whiskey, a syphon and a glass. "I'm afraid I have no corkscrew," he apologised.

"I 'ave," said the imperturbable Collop, who had sat royally in his chair to receive this tribute. He pulled out the cork, smelt the brand, approved of it, poured himself out a dope and a most miserable little splash from the syphon.

"Here's luck!" he said. "Cheerio! Now you leave me _to_ it!"

And de Bohun left him to it, ardently praying with what was left of his childhood's faith to a God in whom he still vaguely believed, that never again in the remaining years of his declining life should he be compelled to harbour under the roof of Paulings any unit from the mighty Secret Service which he commanded, and inwardly deciding that he would relinquish that command for India, Paris, South Africa--nay, New Zealand--anything rather than bear such a burden again.